Hunter and Hunted
by Kiu1q2w
Summary: The apocalypse has come. Rivalries and hatred must be put aside to work together and survive. Marc is thrown into the middle of this when an army scouting goes wrong. Working with drunks, criminals, and conspiracists is the only way Marc is going to get through the mess, and find a way back to normality. Sorry for bad summary, first fanfic.


**Authors Note: Hey guys! This is my first Fan fiction, so sorry if some parts are choppy or not as good as others. This is more of a prologue, so next chapter will be when the story officially starts. This will follow the Black ops 2, WaW, and some Black Ops maps, but those come later. I would like to thank fellow author UglyTurnip for helping me create this story and get introduced to having an account. Please enjoy!**_  
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_July 16, 2025_

_Roswell, New Mexico_

Marc's POV

As my group entered the mine, small drips of water pelted on our heads. The cave reeked heavily of death, alerting us to the dangers of the cave. I was barely paying attention to where I was walking, fascinated by the glowing purple ores around us. "Careful, soldier! We don't know where these caverns lead, or how deep they go! One wrong step, and you are dead!" A bellowing voice shouted at me. It was the Commander, even sterner than he usually was. Snapping back to reality, I replied with a shy, "Okay, sir". Two of my teammates, Shepard and Winston as I knew them, walked by me as we continued down the caverns. "Hey Arston, seen Mathews around? We haven't seen him since we came across those giant crystals". "No, I haven't" I replied, warily glancing around. The stench of death got stronger, as we entered an empty cavern. There were holes in the walls, and fresh blood stained the walls. The decaying corpse of a German soldier lay against the wall, with a torn off arm. "Whoa, first of all, when did the Nazi's come here? Second, what even went on here?" Winston remarked, checking the caverns with his tactical flashlight. I walked over to the German, picking up his gun. I knew it was an STG 44, and I also knew that it would come in handy. Winston headed down an empty corridor, holding his M27 in hand. "Guys, it's all- wait what is that?" he radioed to us, with a panicked tone. "Guys, I don't know how, but Mathews is here, and he's dead. But that's not logical… how could he disappear back there, when he's now ahead of us, and clearly dead? I'm going to go investigate, and- OH GOD! WHAT THE-," the radio let out a high-pitched scream, and there was a sound of chewing and ripping flesh. We aimed our guns at the corridor, and saw Winston come out, missing an arm. Shepard rushed to his aid, only to be torn apart by Winston. His face was heavily deformed, his eyes glowed an eerie yellow, and his skin was slightly decayed. The Commander filled him with bullets, and ushered me to run.

Commander's POV

The boy would barely move, so I had to drag him along. I didn't see the point in hiring a coward like him as a medic, when he can barely fight. He wouldn't even hurt a fly, which is his problem. He believes if it walks on two legs and breathes you can't shoot it. If these freaks are what I think they are, then he won't even survive the first night. What he can do great though is heal. The kid has an amazing knowledge of medical terms and maneuvers, can bandage a severed leg in less than a few seconds, and he can run. In fact, his speed may even put Forrest Gump to shame! As I ran, the maniacs came out of the walls and clawed at me, luckily not hitting me. However, what did hit me was a piece of crumbling rock, trapping my leg. The psychos nearly got to me, but the kid quickly shouted, "It's the only way! Sorry!" as he sawed off my leg. Carrying me fireman style out of the cave, I saw many more insane homicidal maniacs come from the ground. Taking a Five-Seven from my pocket, I fired at the soldiers, killing them one by one, but realizing my gun wouldn't do much. One clawed at me, scarring my face and leaving me blind in the left eye. Marc dashed to an assault vehicle, putting me in the shotgun seat. Marc hopped in the drivers seat, dashing the car out of the encampment we were stationed in. I was curious to the rising, but then saw chemicals floating from a bomb that was reported to have struck 200 miles away, dropping particles on Roswell. Another bomb flew by our heads as we exited the vicinity. The bomb hit the camp, causing a nuclear particle explosion. Our car's entire backside blew up, and the vehicle itself flipped over, trapping me under a supply crate, and sent the kid flying through the windshield. "Don't look back, boy!" I screamed as I set off flares in the car. Hundreds of psychos came rushing to me, as I set off a C4 detonator. I counted down to when I would set off the detonator, to when I would wipe out many insane infected, to when I would meet my end.

3…2…1…

The C4 Went Off

Marc's POV

Picking up my gun, I rushed to the car. The commander's burnt corpse, and the bodies of many zombies, lay in the wreckage. Crippling down, I held his body, noticing for once, not a grimace, but a smile. "So everybody, even those who seem grim all the time, still feel joy," I thought. They were Dead. Winston, the hotheaded comedian who always liked a good fight. Shepard, the serious one, who always knew to keep his cool. The Commander, who seemed rough, but was still a great guy. They were all dead. I dropped his body, and walked over to a nearby assault jet, which I got into to pilot to the nearest safe house. After becoming confused for about 10 minutes with the controls, I was off to find survivors.

3rd Person POV

Marc's jet was fast and accurate, but lacked in one quality- fuel. As the jet went down, Marc glided into a backyard of a demolished house with his wing suit. Landing on the grass, Marc observed the surroundings. The house and terrain were badly demolished, showing signs of a nuke raid. Marc saw an odd box, with fine wooden carvings and odd question marks. He kicked it, watching the guns cycle. RPD, Ballistic Knives, RPG, S12, Five Seven… as the box cycled to a stop, Marc picked up the gun it had. He recognized it as the M27, Winston's gun. He heard a scream come from the shelter nearby, and wandered in. He saw a panicked young man, trying to hold back a zombie with only a knife. Marc shot the zombie with his M27, hearing the undead moans of agony. "Thank you, friend. I am grateful for you saving my life. My name is Marlton Johnson, and I would be pleasured to accompany you to try and wipe out the subjects," The technological researcher explained. "Name's Marc Arston, trained battle medic of Unit 115, my team was recently wiped out. So friendo," Marc continued, "How do we get out of this place?".

**Author's Note: So, how was it? I hope you enjoyed, and if you didn't, I take constructive criticism, so I can improve the story for next time. New chapter will hopefully be up soon, Bye!**


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